Hair today …

Gone tomorrow!

“It’s just hair, it’s just hair,” chanted mom silently, as the hairdresser cut away four years worth of her daughter’s hair.

“It’s not a limb; it will grow back in no time,” she consoled herself, watching Kuki preen in front of the mirror in her new hairdo.

Vague recollections from a lifetime ago floated into her mind. Temper tantrums, whining, sulking, pleading, cries of ‘It’s not fair!’ had preceded her own first haircut – an act of open defiance at the age of 12.

Grandma’s face was dark and unreadable when mom had returned home with her new blunt cut.

“You’ll understand when you grow up,” she had sniffed, quietly returning to the kitchen.

After all these years, mom just did.

P.S. At grandpa’s insistence, a lock of hair was set aside for deposit in the Tirupathi hundi.

No one (including grandpa) is really sure why.

Holiday wishlist

When mom says, “I love to shop,” she means strictly for herself, of course.

The woman has no trouble spending her time and dad’s hard-earned money on herself. But when it comes to finding the perfect present for anybody above the age of five, mom is not, shall we say … gifted.

The last few days have seen her standing in the middle of the mall with a deer caught in the headlights look, while shoppers scurry purposefully around her like ants on a picnic table.

The frown lines on her forehead threaten to run into deep fissures as she contemplates a retail world replete with a million choices - not one of them aimed at her sari-clad, bindi-wearing, makeup-eschewing beautiful mother.

“Satin thong for $19.95? Amma would have a heart attack,” she thinks, wisely walking away from a racy number as wide as her shoe laces.

“Apple cinnamon candles from Bombay? Um … I think they have a generator back home now.”

“Spa certificate for a massage? But she won’t relax and take her bindi and mangalsutra off.”

“$99.95 knife from Henckels? Amma will never even unwrap because of that story in the newspaper where the trusted servant of 15 years stabbed the homeowner with a kitchen knife.”

“Cashmere socks in pink, blue and yellow? She’s sure to say, ‘Light color aa?’”

On any other occasion mom would not have fretted over gifts, preferring to give nothing over something that she knows will never be used and will languish in the trusty Godrej for another generation.

But the conspicuous Christmas tree in the living room at this time of year is just begging to be surrounded by gifts in a few days.

Grandpa, thankfully, wears Western clothes, but there are only so many cotton shirts in dull colors a man can possess.

It’s clear mom needs a little help in the imagination department, so indulge her, won’t you?

What would you give two special people who say they only want you to be happy?

It’s that time of year when the grandparents are here

• “Such a big house, and you have no place for god? You have to keep perumaal in the bookshelf?”

• “There’s no matchbox in the house? How then do you light the lamp everyday?”
  

• “Wait, isn’t this east? Why are the gods facing west then?”
  

• “You’re going for a haircut on Saturday? You’re trimming your nails on a Tuesday?”
  

• “No, no, vaangibath powder never expires. Manufacturers simply put a date on the packet.”
  

• “At least wear a small bindi everyday.”
  

• “I’m NOT cooking too much.”
  

• “Why aren’t the children enrolled in Kumon? All the other Indian kids are.”
  

• “Fat free milk is just white water.”
  

• “Women should always smile and never complain.”
  

• “Enough already. Do us a favor and stop blogging!"

In a vortex over latex

It was the $5 off coupon that compelled mom to deviate from routine one afternoon and shop at the other grocery store instead of her regular haunt.

She filled her cart with all manner of provisions and proceeded to the checkout lane to patiently wait her turn.

By the time she reached the cash register, her nose buried in a magazine, mom had learned that gorgeous Vanessa Williams doesn’t really diet and follows a soap and water beauty regimen.

What a coincidence! So does mom, but it’s hard to mistake her for a beauty queen.

As she unloaded her purchases onto the belt, mom hesitated for a second and looked around before placing a pack of prophylactics (on sale for half-price) on the counter.

Memories of bumping into a girlfriend with a pregnancy test kit in hand came flooding back, and not wanting a repeat scene, mom took care to casually conceal the box by sandwiching it between two gallons of milk.

Digging through the dregs of her purse for her debit card, mom reached the cashier, ready to greet the person with a polite plastic smile in place.

The cashier turned toward mom and caused her heart to momentarily leap out of its cavity.

Of all people, it was the desi uncle she occasionally bumped into at parties.

“Hello, how are you?” he smiled, running her buttermilk over the scanner.

“Er … fine,” mumbled mom, belying her current state of anxiety. She wondered if it was too late to dive across the conveyor belt and shove the offending pack into the Kit Kat bars lining the aisle.

“Did you find everything all right?” asked uncle genially, offering mom a perfect opening into a conversation.

On any given day, mom would’ve inquired about his family and made polite small talk about the buy one get one free deal on russet potatoes.

That day, however, she could only watch mutely as the cause of her consternation steadily made its way toward uncleji with every successive beep.

Wanting to bury her face in a paper or plastic bag (she wasn't choosy), mom pretended to be VERY busy rifling through her purse for her car keys.

“Would you like any stamps or ice with that?” inquired uncle, unaware that mom was in no mood to prolong the transaction.

Conscious of the flush spreading across her face, she picked up her purchases and all but ran out of the store as fast as she could.

Later, as she unloaded the groceries at home, the $5 off coupon fluttered to the floor, crumpled and unused.

"I wonder what uncle’s schedule is," thought mom, smoothening out the edges and squinting to read the coupon's expiry date.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she idly wondered if the rubbers would still be on sale.

Chained by tradition

All mom really wanted that day at the doctor's office was a rubber band for her hair.

She dug deep into her purse and found everything else, including the mangalsutra she had misplaced two years ago coiled like a golden snake against the dark interior.

“Oh, my god,” thought mom, her eyes widening in disbelief, “how many times has this very same handbag passed through airport screening without beeping even once?”

Despite the time difference, the occasion warranted rousing the maternal grandparents in India out of deep slumber.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am,” gushed grandma, as though mom had stood first in the civil service exam. “My prayers have been answered.”

A vada malai to the neighborhood Hanuman was duly commissioned, and coconuts were cracked in front of various temple deities - the halves then distributed to the Gurkha guard and the chappal keepers out front.

The hullabaloo her parents had created when they first learned of the missing mangalyam reminded mom of the similar bedlam she had generated when she awoke with a stinging red eye on her wedding day and couldn’t pop her contact lenses in.

If it hadn’t been for her cousins who clustered around her during the ceremony and guided her every action, mom would’ve married the closest pandal pillar for all she could see.

Unlike the premarital red-shot right eye which was blamed on jitters, mom had no one but herself to blame when she mislaid her marital symbol many years later.

“What do you mean you can’t find it?” exclaimed grandma over the phone. “First of all, who told you to take it off? Have you looked in your bed?”

“That’s the first place I searched,” said mom defensively, happy to note that she wasn’t the first godfearing Hindu woman to stow her chain under the pillow.

Perhaps the traditional Tam Bram thaali needs a serious redesign if generations of women have been taking the chain off at night at the behest of their husbands, lest the jingling awaken a sleeping household at the most inopportune moment.

When grandpa first learned of mom’s errant mangalsutra, he promptly dipped into his retirement savings and sent her a shiny new replacement through the next visiting relative.

“Find a good day to take off the yellow thread from around your neck,” grandma had instructed over the phone.

Mom touched her bare neck and gulped.

“Do puja and then wear your new thirumangalyam. And don’t you dare lose this one also,” warned grandma, silencing mom’s protests of needless expenses.

Mom’s neck is now dutifully weighed down by guilt and her cleavage raw with dent marks from the new mangalyam's sharp edges.

“What are you going to do with two chains now, Amma?” asked Anu, echoing the question in mom’s own mind when she recovered her jewelry.

That's a good question.

I wonder if wearing two thaalis simultaneously would doubly impress the maternal grandparents when they visit next week.